I Don't Have Time To Explahhhhhhhh You Know The Rest
by OboeNotClarinet
Summary: More stupid prompts from my brother. Now with chickens. Categorized under Destiny but I may have some other things sprinkled in there. Rated T for Too Late, It's Already Dumb. You know what else is dumb? The fact that the Speaker is not in the list of characters I can say are in here. So PSA: he's in here. You're welcome.
1. The Colonel's Army

"Are you… are you trying to whistle?"

The mountain air still had a brisk chill to it, Crimson Days having just ended, and Hawthorne wrapped her poncho tighter around herself. Ignoring the cold and the clan leader's question, Cayde-6 stood confidently in the middle of the road, hands on his hips.

"Just give me a minute," the Exo said, mostly to himself. "Gotta find the right lip shape…"

"You don't have lips," Hawthorne pointed out, but was interrupted by a shrill whistle. "Wait, how did you-"

"Shhhhhhhhhh. They're coming."

"Who-"

" _Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh._ "

A breeze filled the silence, carrying sounds from the Farm not far down the road. It grew louder, closer, and Hawthorne realized that what she was hearing was no longer the wind.

"Holy-"

The thunder of countless feathery wings beating filled the air as a mass of chickens swarmed down the mountainside. Hawthorne was almost swept off her feet, only just managing to regain her balance and avoid trampling any poultry underfoot. Meanwhile, Cayde remained upright in the eye of the tornado of semi-flightless birds, picking up one, Colonel, his favorite, and stroking the rooster as he turned to face Hawthorne.

"Say hello to my little friends," Cayde grinned.

The sniper wore an expression that Zavala had perfected from many years of working with his Hunter comrade. "Cayde…" she sighed. "You said you had an army."

"I do! Here they are," Cayde replied, waving his free arm at the mass of chickens pecking at the dirt path.

"This is your army."

"Yep!"

Hawthorne threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "We're doomed."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

Crossing her arms, Hawthorne watched Cayde as he turned Colonel to face him. Cayde rested his forehead against Colonel's gently, the bird's beak making a tiny _clink_ sound as it hit metal.

"Listen carefully Colonel," the Vanguard murmured. "See the lady over there?"

Colonel cocked his head and clucked.

"Good." Cayde narrowed his eyes. "Attack."

Suddenly the Exo was tossing Colonel at Hawthorne, and the rooster let out a long, angry crow as it flailed its wings in her general direction. Startled, the sniper went down under a wave of pumping wings and pecking beaks.

Later, in the old Farmhouse that functioned as a makeshift base, Ikora raised an eyebrow.

"Chickens?" she said in disbelief.

"Don't underestimate them," Cayde answered, cradling Colonel in his arms.

"Really," interjected Hawthorne, covered in hundreds of tiny scratches. "Don't."

 **A/N: This is the first of the prompts my brother, Sir Monkey Knight, has given me. It all started with a Tumblr post that involved a video of the chicken-call whistle in action and a subsequent fan comic of Hawthorne being bombarded by birds. As you can see, I am not original in the least. Thanks for reading my stupid inner thought process.**


	2. A Rare Occurrence

Zavala was beginning to wonder why his inbox kept nagging at him. There was no emergency that he was aware of, and yet here were dozens of messages from just as many Guardians pinging into view. They had no subject line, so he was forced to open them one by one. The first was from an experienced Hunter, one that Cayde trusted greatly.

Zavala,

Why didn't the Ghost bring its Guardian on patrols?

It couldn't find anybody!

XOXO Your ~second~ favorite Hunter

The Titan Vanguard frowned. A joke? And a bad one at that. What on earth prompted that Hunter to send something like that? Zavala scanned through the other messages in his inbox; every single one consisted only of terrible puns, sent by Hunters. Closing his messages, the Titan assumed a flat look reserved for one person.

On his way to the hangar, Zavala was stopped by three Hunters, each one armed with an awful joke.

"Hey, Zavala, do you think it would be oCayde if I use this gun in the crucible?"

"Zavala! What did one Thrall say to the other? Nothing! They're both thinking the same thing!"

"Zavala, sir! Wait! I've got a question that's Vexing me!"

Each time he was attacked with a jest, Zavala simply kept walking unperturbed, noticing that the offending Guardians seemed disappointed when he didn't laugh. Entering the hangar, the Titan Vanguard swept his glowing gaze across the assortment of ships and mechanics until he spotted who he was looking for.

"Cayde!"

The Exo in question glanced up from his current conversation, cracking a grin and jogging to meet his comrade. "Hey, Zavala. Anything interesting happening."

Zavala crossed his arms. "I was hoping you would know."

"Ah, yes..." Cayde paused, index finger hovering as he recalled his thoughts. "Right! Soooo I sent out this wager."

"A wager."

"Yes! Yes, a bet, for a thousand glimmer, to make you smile."

Zavala pinched the bridge of his nose. "You made a bet that Guardians could not make me laugh?"

"Yep! Pretty much!" Cayde replied cheerfully.

Zavala was debating punching the Hunter Vanguard in his steel face.

Cayde rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I'm gonna make so much glimmer off these jokers. They won't know what hi-"

A bright red projectile whizzed past Zavala's shoulder and smacked into Cayde's head, knocking the Exo to the ground. Startled, Zavala looked down to see a large tomato impaled dead center on Cayde's horn. The Hunter Vanguard swore, sitting up, and glared at his assailant.

Sitting on top of a ship with a potato gun was a young Awoken Hunter, wearing a huge grin and a pair of suspiciously familiar illegally modded pants.

"I guess now I get a thousand glimmer and another hand cannon round," she called.

As tomato juice ran down Cayde's scowling expression, Zavala couldn't help himself.

He laughed.

 **A quick A/N: Why a tomato in a potato gun, you ask? Because this is a silly story where the games are made up and the points don't matter. You can't apply logic to this kind of tomfoolery. Mortals... They always overthink everything...**


	3. Crush Your Foes

Sighing, Lord Shaxx shook his head at the results of the crucible round. The blue team had done excellently - completely dominated, even - but that was the problem. This particular fireteam had been winning all day. It just wasn't fun when someone wasn't getting obliterated after a major victory. Shaxx wanted to see some broken limbs and dreams.

That was why he was climbing that excessive amount of steps to the Speaker's sanctum. Upon reaching the top, Shaxx entered the sweeping room, a breathtaking view of the Traveler at its center.

The Speaker, gazing pensively over the City, turned to greet him. "Good afternoon, Lord Shaxx. How is the Crucible today?"

"Good afternoon, Speaker," Shaxx replied. "That's just what I was coming to talk to you about."

"Do tell," the Speaker said, interested. The Iron Lord seemed unhappy, which was unusual when addressing the goings-on of his arena.

Shaxx procured his Ghost and displayed that day's victors, highlighting the problem. "There is a fireteam on an unprecedented winning streak. I suspect foul play, but I cannot seem to find any evidence of cheating."

The Speaker scanned the match results, crossing his arms. "Have you checked for a certain pair of Hunter's leg armor?"

"Thoroughly," Shaxx scowled under his helmet. He hated those damned "lucky" pants.

"I see." The Speaker thought for a moment. Then, raising his head, he had an idea.

Shaxx noticed the shift. "You have a solution?"

"Yes," the Speaker replied, his tone lined with something that reminded the Iron Lord of evil glee. "What if you introduced a _new contender_?"

Lord Shaxx shivered, comprehending, and got the chilling notion that under his mask, the Speaker was grinning.

Later in the Crucible, fireteam Sun's Out Guns Out was preparing for their next landslide victory. Their leader, a Titan who had chosen the tag iR0k_01, swaggered in front of his teammates.

"God, I can't wait to win again," he laughed. "These noobs don't know anything."

"Yeah, and I hear we're only going up against one guy this time," snickered a Hunter, YaBoi-69.

The fireteam guffawed together at their opponent's apparent mistake, and entered the match. Not even five seconds had passed before they were blinded by radiance from above, as if the sun had decided to come closer to Earth. Eight seconds into the Crucible match, the fireteam died in unison.

"What the hell!" YaBoi shrieked as he respawned.

iR0k as he joined his team. "At least we know it's just one Sunsinger. Who is this guy anyway?" The Titan checked his HUD briefly; in it were the death messages of his team, all taken out by the same player - The_Lorax.

"The_Lorax?" YaBoi asked incredulously. "What kind of a name is that?"

"Doesn't matter! Let's nuke this idiot!" another Titan, FemmeFatale, interrupted. She charged out into the arena, gripping her shotgun and spinning violently to the side as a blue-and-white streak slashed out her fate.

 _The_Lorax Bladedanced with FemmeFatale_ , read the message on the HUD.

"Holy cotton socks!" YaBoi exclaimed as he died for the second time. When the fireteam returned, The_Lorax was waiting for them. He struck again, bearing down on the panicked fireteam like thunder, crackling with Striker energy as he dropped from the heavens. Nine times he killed the fireteam, once for each Guardian subclass. Nine seconds before the match ended, iR0k was the last man standing. He breathed heavily, on his last leg from the most recent attack; he'd barely escaped. He felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder from behind and force him around to face his attacker.

iR0k gasped from the shock of both the revelation of his opponent's identity and the knife hilt-deep in his ribs. He was helmet-to-mask with the Speaker himself.

Four seconds to go.

The Speaker leaned in, twisting the blade, and growled, "Are we having fun yet?"

The HUD displayed a final message just before the Crucible clock ran out.

 _The_Lorax stabbed iR0k_01_.

 **A/N: I see you've made it this far in my overall goofiness. Congrats. This particular prompt was brought up when Sir Monkey and I noticed that the Speaker's character design included elements from the three main classes. Speculation ensued, and as you can see it escalated quickly. Stay tuned for an idea involving a knife-happy Hunter, the Reef, and a stolen scene from _The_ _Hobbit_. And please, if you feel offended by my blatant and satirical gamer tags because they are too similar to yours, please do not leave a polite comment. Instead, rage to my inbox about how I am an insult to gamer culture and rave on about how sweaty scrubs like me could never last in a Crucible match for more than a second. Thanks :)**


	4. Holy Cotton Socks

**This one was based on the canon that the Guardian doesn't speak. My brother and I like to wonder if that's because the Guardian can't. That and when I asked my brother what to do with a massive hole on Nessus his first response was "puppet theater". You're welcome, Sir Monkey Knight.**

Spreading his arms, the Guardian faced the sun, drinking in its warmth and feeling the wind through his fingers. Nessus might be a Vex-controlled centaur, but it was still beautiful. The Guardian simply wanted to take in the surface before he had to plunge beneath it.

"Eyes up, Guardian," his Ghost said. "We're here for the mission, not the scenery."

The Awoken Titan waved Ghost away dismissively. He jumped down from the rock column he was perched on and dusted off his full Crucible armor, briefly remembering the hours upon days of getting his butt handed to him to earn it. Following the marker Ghost had set, he took off at a jog, headed towards a large metal hole in the ground. It had recently opened up, and despite its Golden Age appearance had no sign of rust or age. Naturally, the curious Hunter Vanguard Cayde-6 had sent the Guardian to explore it.

"Captain, I am detecting odd frequencies from the aperture," chirped Failsafe, an AI aboard the _Exodus Black_ , a research ship that had crashed on Nessus years ago. Her demeanor switched as she malfunctioned briefly. " _You could totally die_ ," she deadpanned.

"That's comforting," Ghost muttered, rolling his single eye as the Guardian came to a halt at the hole's edge. They peered into it together. Ghost scanned it quickly. "Failsafe's right. There are some weird sounds coming from down there. I'll see if i can play back the waves."

Ghost hovered for a moment, converting his scan, then played the sound bite. It was…

"The music you are playing was often featured at carnivals, circuses, and fairs all the way through Earth's Golden Age," Failsafe interrupted cheerfully. " _It sounds like it's being played by a terrible recorder."_

The Guardian, intrigued, shrugged and readied his MIDA Multi-Tool, then jumped into the gaping maw. He landed on a few platforms on the way down, boost jumping before each so he didn't die before he even reached the bottom. Finally, he landed.

Ghost proceeded in front of him, taking multiple scans and leading him down a tunnel in the round side of the hole that glowed with a warm gold light. As he advanced, the Guardian could hear carnival music growing louder, and decided Failsafe was accurate; someone was playing the recorder like they were trying to imitate a wounded bird. At the end of a tunnel was a ragged red curtain, with a cardboard sign in front of it. Upon closer inspection, it read, in ragged crayon, "Pleese come enjoi the Show!" Several letters were backwards.

The Guardian pushed through the curtain, shrugging, and was met with a small theater, complete with Dawning lights and a haphazardly constructed stage.

"What on Earth…" Ghost trailed off, his back half twisting as he tried to make sense of the situation. He hovered backwards, alarmed, as something poked its head from behind the stage's curtains, squawked, and ran - or rather, shuffled - towards the Guardian. It looked like…

"A sock puppet?"

The Guardian was just as confused as his Ghost, shaking his head and bringing up his hands in a "heck if I know" gesture. The sock puppet stopped under the Guardian's hand, jumping up and down, googly eyes rattling, yarn arms reaching for the glove just out of grasp. The Guardian hesitantly put away his Multi-Tool, crouching slightly and letting the puppet take hold of his finger. It happily led him to a large pillow on the floor, urging him to sit, and dashed backstage. It reappeared briefly, motioning for the Guardian to take off his helmet. The Titan complied, still confused.

Curtains raising, the bad recorder tune swelled with more mediocre instruments, until it sounded like a flute ensemble careening down the world's bumpiest road. More living sock puppets danced on stage, pantomiming a tragic love story (the ending of which could have been avoided with simple communication) and finishing with a dramatic flourish.

Ghost and the Guardian shared a look - the Titan shrugged and applauded.

This seemed to excite the socks; they began to jump wildly around the stage, waving their string arms and squawking. The room rumbled, a quaking that gradually became stronger until the Guardian was pitched off his cushion. He landed on his back while Ghost zipped around him, startled. Above them, the ceiling was ripped away, clawed off by massive wooden hands.

" _Welcome, puppet,"_ intoned an ethereal voice. Ghost, its eye red, scanned the enormous face of a giant marionette. Black, smoke-like energy poured from the inky expanse behind the behemoth and surrounded the Guardian, crawling up his red armor and seeping into his nose and mouth. Alarmed, he tried to claw it away in vain. The voice spoke again.

" _A puppet master took your choice. You lost your will, now gain your voice."_

The Guardian convulsed once, shook his head, and sat up, massaging his throat. When he looked up, the room was back to its innocent setup.

"What the hell just happened?" the Titan rasped.

Ghost just stared at him, awestruck.

"What?"

"Guardian…" Ghost whispered. "You just talked."

The Guardian's eyes widened in comprehension. "Holy cotton socks…"

A sock puppet traipsed from the stage and cuddled the Guardian's arm.

Ghost glanced at it. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

 **I did try to warn you.**


	5. CHOO CHOO GUARDIAN

**This was written at... ehhhhhh midnight or so when I had no ideas and was tired beyond exhaustion. Please don't take this one seriously - and definitely take it less seriously than the other stories here. This "chapter" in particular was written (if you can call it that) while my brother was playing Monster Hunter World so... Well just read it. It's only 28 words. I counted.**

Cayde is hunting monsters in the New World.

 _CHOO CHOO GUARDIAN!_

Cayde is obliterated by an Anjanath with a grudge against any hunter of any type.

The End.

 **What, you were expecting more? I told you it was short. Anyway, I'll have an actual chapter up soon. Hopefully.**


	6. Best Served Cold

**My brother Sir Monkey mentioned that in the new Warmind DLC, the Hive were frozen and shattered when killed. At first he suggested a performance of** ** _Let It Go_** **, but I have saved you from that fate and given you a snowball fight instead. You're welcome.**

The polar ice caps, Mars. Zavala, the Titan Vanguard, gazed across the icy terrain peacefully. He and his Vanguard fireteam stood in a deep drift of fine, powdery snow - the remains of the frozen Hive swarm they had just vanquished.

"Every day, every time we fight," he began solemnly, "we bring more peace to our sy-"

 _PAFFFF!_

Zavala stopped mid-sentence, slowly turning to face his teammates as snow slid down the back of his head. Cayde was trying not to look guilty as Ikora hid a smile behind her hand.

"Who threw that?" Zavala asked flatly, already having a fairly good idea of the answer.

"Ikora did it," Cayde blurted, immediately pointing to the Warlock, who only smiled.

Zavala highly doubted that. Acting quickly, he scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at the Hunter, nailing him in the face and knocking him onto his back in the snow.

"Ha! How does your own medicine taste, Cayde?"

The Exo sat up suddenly, chucking a snowball right back at his Awoken comrade hitting him in the chest. "Not as sweet as cold, cold revenge!" he laughed. The two Vanguard tried to obliterate each other with snowballs as Ikora watched from the side, snickering whenever Cayde took an icy sphere to the forehead.

Cayde jumped off a large chunk of ice, sending a snowball spinning towards Zavala. "Eat ice, Titan!" he crowed. Then he watched in horror as the snowball curved to the side and exploded against the side of Ikora's face. Cayde and Zavala stopped dead in their tracks as the Warlock slowly wiped ice off her cheek, inspected it, and fixed a burning gaze on her fireteam.

"Now you've done it," Zavala muttered.

Needless to say, the fight escalated. Five minutes later, three enormous snow forts formed a triangle, snowballs flying back and forth as Guardians rallied to defend their classes. After a while, Cayde noticed that the Warlock fort's activity had decreased.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted to his Hunters. Reluctantly, they held their snowballs, glancing at their commander. He waved his arms at the Titan fort. "Hold your fire!"

Zavala poked his head over the snowy wall. "Surrendering, Cayde?!"

"No, look! Ikora hasn't been moving!"

The Titan Vanguard peered at the Warlock fort. Then it dawned on him. "Oh, no…"

A shadow fell over the icy battleground as a mass of Voidwalker Warlocks rose over the icy forts, lead by Ikora, wielding snow-coated Nova Bombs and grinning.

Cayde's shoulders slumped. "Aw, sh-"

The Warlocks obliterated their opponents, leveling the Titan and Hunter forts in a storm of snow and purple energy.

As the destroyed Guardians slowly respawned, Cayde sent an open broadcast to the Warlocks.

"Okay, Ikora. You win."

 **And there it is. Hooray. Cayde and Zavala getting utterly eradicated by a Snowva Bomb blizzard. I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Meanwhile, since Sir Monkey's prompts usually come** ** _after_** **I have time to write, feel free to PM in a suggestion. Remeber, keep it T and in a slice-of-life type of theme. Have fun.**


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